Longclaw
by the-defenestration-of-smaug
Summary: Daenerys has come to Westeros and goes North seeking allies. She finds one in the King in the North, Jon Snow. While the terms of this alliance are being negotiated at Winterfell, there is an unfortunate misunderstanding between Jon and a certain exiled knight.


Jon sat in an alcove of the dusty corridor above the kitchens. It was a drafty and deserted place, but that suited him just fine. It made this the ideal place for Jon to find some quiet and solitude, both of which had become ever more rare and precious to him over the past few weeks.

His sword rested across his knees, and the only sound was the steady scrape of whetstone on steel. It was a somewhat pointless activity, as the Valyrian steel was as sharp as ever, but Jon needed something to occupy himself. Whenever he sat and did nothing, his thoughts turned to the thousand and one tasks he'd left undone to seek out this moment of peace, and his head began to ache all over again.

 _Did father feel this way?_ He wondered. _Or Robb?_ He didn't know how either of them had been able to bear the weight of responsibility for so long. It had only been months since he was named King in the North, but already he was exhausted. It had only grown worse since the arrival of Queen Daenerys and the offer of alliance that she brought. After a long night of discussion with Sansa and their advisers, they had agreed to the alliance, but that had only been the beginning. After that, the endless negotiations began. Every minute detail of the agreement had to be examined and argued over until both sides walked away frustrated and exhausted.

The sound of footsteps brought him out of his thoughts, and he let out a resigned sigh. _So much for this hiding place_. But his resignation turned to surprise when it was not one of Winterfell's usual inhabitants who turned the corner. It was one of the Queen's men, the exiled knight called Ser Jorah.

"Your Grace." The knight said. "I did not expect to find you here."

"Nor I you." Jon replied, putting down his whetstone. "What brings you here?" Jorah looked up and down the hall.

"I seem to have taken a wrong turn. I don't suppose that this is the way to the armory?" He asked. Jon smiled and shook his head.

"No, ser, the armory is on the other side of the keep."

"Ah." Jorah said ruefully. "My apologies for disturbing you." Jon nodded, and the other man turned to go. Jon went back to his sword, but realized a moment later that Jorah hadn't left. He looked up and saw the knight staring at his sword with a very odd expression on his face.

"That's a fine blade." Jorah said slowly. "Valyrian steel?"

"Yes. There's no metal like it." He replied. The knight nodded in agreement.

"May I?" Jorah asked, holding out a hand. Jon hesitated for a moment, unwilling to put his weapon in the hands of a stranger. Then he nodded, internally berating himself. _You've been too long on the battlefield, Snow_ , he told himself. _Not every man wants to kill you._ He handed the sword to Jorah, hilt first. The knight took it and held the blade up in front of him, examining the rippled pattern in the steel. Then he changed his grip, holding the sword point down to touch the white stone pommel.

"A white wolf." Jorah murmured. "How appropriate."

"The hilt was made for me." Jon explained. "It was originally-"

"A bear." Jorah interrupted.

"Yes." Jon said carefully. There was something off in the knight's tone, a harsh note that set off alarm bells in Jon's mind. He felt himself wishing he hadn't handed this man the only weapon he was carrying. "You know this sword?"

"Know it?" Jorah repeated. He smiled, but nothing about the expression suggested mirth. "Yes. This is Longclaw. It belonged to my father."

"Your father…" Something clicked in Jon's memory. "You're Jorah Mormont. The Lord Commander's son."

"Aye. And you were a man of the Night's Watch."

"I was." Jon agreed, warily watching Jorah turn the sword over, holding it out in front of him again. "Your father was a great man."

"Yes. "Jordan said bitterly. "And he was killed for it. By his own men, I was told." He was still staring at the sword, not looking at Jon as he spoke.

"You were told the truth. There was a mutiny, beyond the wall. Many good men died that day." Jorah nodded, and was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke again, Jon was taken aback by the sudden fury in his voice.

"Was it you?" Jorah demanded. "Were you the one who betrayed him? Tell me, did you have the decency to look him in the eye when you killed him, or did you wait for him to fall asleep and then stick a dagger in his back?" For a moment Jon was too shocked to speak.

"I would never-"

"No, I suppose you wouldn't. That would take more courage than a craven like you could muster. You just stood back and watched your brave brothers butcher my father, and after they'd finished you stole his sword for a trophy!" Jorah's voice rose in volume with every word, and the sword in his hand followed suit, rising until it was levelled at Jon's throat.

"I did not kill you father, ser." Jon said quietly, meeting Jorah's furious gaze unflinchingly. Jorah took a step closer, but Jon never found out what the knight would have done, for at that moment came the sound of approaching footsteps. Jorah froze, and they both looked around in time to see Daenerys turn the corner, accompanied by Sansa. The queen's cool gaze took in the scene before her, while Sansa's eyes grew wide as they flickered between Jon and Jorah and the sword still pointed at Jon's throat.

"Is everything all right here?" The queen asked.

"We heard shouting." Sansa added worriedly. Jon forced a reassuring smile onto his face and stood, gently pushing the blade away.

"Everything's fine. Ser Jorah was just admiring my sword." Jon said, and held out his hand for the weapon, a clear challenge in his gaze. Jorah's mouth twisted with anger, but under his queen's gaze he had no choice but to give up the blade. The knight pushed past Jon and left with a murmured "Pardon me, your grace" to Daenerys. Jon sheathed the sword and watched him go, wondering why nothing could ever be simple _._


End file.
